Jaran

Only she did not get there. A body slammed against her. Pain tore deep into her side. Far away, a man screamed her name.

'Khaja pig, I'll kill you!' cried Vasil, and the weight was dragged off her. 'She's a woman, curse you to Hell.'

'Veselov! Let him go!'

The flurry of movement confused her. When it cleared, she saw only Vasil, standing over her. His hair shone like spun gold in the sunlight.

Her vision blurred in a haze of light and shadow, and then darkened.

She breathed. Grass tickled her nose, and she sneezed. Pain lanced through her. The day was silent. Everyone was gone. She stared up at the white trail of a cloud far away, and the bright, high, solitary sun. A bird called, once, twice.

She forced herself up onto her hands and knees. Noise pounded in her ears, shouting and horses all mixed until it made no sense. She crawled, dragged herself forward because she knew he was here, somewhere close by.

Then she was there, kneeling, staring down at him.

'Yuri.' Her voice sounded distant, detached. He lay utterly still. There was a transparent cast to his skin, to his pale lips, as if his purity were infusing his mortal form. The tears ran down her face, falling on his lips and on his cheek. His eyes fluttered and his lips moved, moved again.

'Tess.' It was the barest whisper. She bent down close to him. The scent of blood and grass drowned her. He lifted one hand and held it, wavering, searching for her. She caught it before it could fall back, pressed the dry skin to her lips, kissing it again and again as if her kiss could heal him.

Suddenly, his gaze focused on her. He blinked once, slowly. 'Don't cry,' he said, puzzled. 'Live.'

'Yuri. Yuri.' Even her tears did not wake him. She put her cheek against his lips but nothing stirred. 'Yuri!'

'Tess! Oh, gods, Tess.'

'Where is she?'

'There. There. Gods, look at the blood. Vladi, help her up.'

A hand closed on her shoulder.

'Leave me alone!' she cried, and she swung wildly to dislodge it. Lost everything in the pain that ripped through her side. She slumped forward over Yuri's body.

'Leave her alone!' That voice she knew. She stirred weakly. 'Make Kirill lie down. Gods, he'll die where he's standing. Petya says you were ambushed.'

A few gasping breaths, and then Kirill's voice, weak and strained. 'Mikhailov's jahar. We rode straight into them.'

She felt a hand come to rest on her neck. By the way it felt, gentle and implacable at the same time, she knew it was him. 'Come, my wife,' he said in a voice so strangely cool that she wondered why he spoke so oddly to her, ' 'you must move now.' His hands shifted her, and she choked down a moan and was suddenly cradled in his arms, looking up at him.

'Ilya,' she said. And then she knew what was the only important thing in the world. 'Mikhailov.'

'Tess, don't speak.'

'No. Mikhailov. Wanted Yuri. Dead.' His face changed. Looking into his eyes, she felt fiercely that what they shared now would always bind them.

'I'll kill him,' he said. 'I'll kill him myself.'

'Thank you,' she whispered, and because she felt safe, held by him, she let pain wash her into oblivion.

'You love her,' said Kirill. His voice rasped with pain.

Bakhtiian simply sat, holding Tess against him as if he meant never to let her go. Blood leaked onto his fingers. He stared at her face, and if he had heard Kirill, he gave no sign.

'Vladimir,' said Niko. 'We need tents for the wounded.

We need fires and hot water. Send Anton Veselov here and send Sergei Veselov with riders to track Mikhailov.'

'But, Niko, shouldn't we carry the wounded back to Veselov's tribe?' Vladimir asked.

Niko glanced at Kirill, who stared white-faced at Ilya and Tess from where he lay on the ground, and then at Yuri's slack body, and farther, at the other riders strewn like so much wreckage across the field. 'For those who can, yes. But some of these won't live so long. Now go.' Vladimir nodded and ran off.

Niko knelt beside Kirill. 'Let me see, boy,' he said brusquely. 'No, don't argue with me. This is a bad cut here but mostly blood.' Kirill gasped and clutched at Niko's arm. 'Yes, that one's to the bone but it's clean. But what happened to this shoulder?' Tears came to Kirill's eyes as Niko probed the wound, and his breathing grew so ragged that Niko pulled away.

'I can't feel my right arm,' Kirill whispered hoarsely. 'Nothing.'

'Gods,' Niko sighed under his breath. 'Well, young fool,' he said roughly, 'if you're still alive so far, I think you'll live to regret it. Just lie still. I'll bind those two wounds and then I'll leave you until I can look to the others.'

'Tess-' Kirill whispered.

'Don't you mind Tess. Anton!'

Anton Veselov knelt beside Kirill. 'Let me bind those,' he said. 'I've cloth.'

Niko moved to crouch beside Yuri. He laid a hand on Yuri's throat, searching for a pulse.

Anton worked on Kirill as he spoke. 'Ivan Charnov is dead. Matvey Stassov and Mikhal Yakhov will be dead by morning. Three of Mikhailov's men are dead. Five others of both jahars badly wounded. The rest-' He gestured with his head. 'As you see them. They'll live. Sergei has taken twelve riders after Mikhailov.''

'So few?' Both men started round. It was Bakhtiian who had asked the question.

'Sergei,' said Anton, 'does not believe Mikhailov will attack him.'

'She got Mikhailov,' said Kirill in a low voice. 'Tess, I mean. Damn.' He shut his eyes. 'I don't know how badly but, by the gods, she got him.' He said it fiercely, with glee. 'Aren't you done yet, Veselov?'

'Let me bind that shoulder up,' said the other man evenly. 'Then I'll let you rest.'

Niko sighed and moved away from Yuri. 'Ilya, I must look at Tess. Put her down. Ilyakoria.'

Niko's voice was sharp enough that it got Bakhtiian's attention. He hesitated, and then, carefully, expressionlessly, he laid her down on the grass.

'I don't want you watching me,' said Niko severely.

Ilya stood and walked over to Kirill. For an instant, he stood above him, staring down as Anton Veselov bound Kirill's shoulder and arm into a sling.

Kirill opened his eyes and, with an effort, focused his gaze on Bakhtiian's. He grinned weakly. 'She may choose you in the end but, by the gods, she chose me first.'

'Yes, you won that fairly. But you were always too damned charming for your own good. I always envied you that, Kirill.'

Kirill's eyes widened. 'Did you! Gods. I never knew.'

'Anton,' said Niko impassively, 'can you help me here?'

Anton glanced at Kirill, then at Bakhtiian, and retreated to assist Niko. Ilya so forcefully did not look after him that it was obvious that he wanted nothing more than to know what they were doing. Instead, he knelt beside Kirill.

'So Mikhailov is injured?'

'Yes. I don't know-let me-'

'Don't get up. That you've gone this long with those wounds astonishes me. He left five men for dead, and if he's wounded, he'll be forced to run and wait for now. Gods, I've got to get those khepellis to the coast before the winds change. Damn them. I'll deal with Mikhailov when we return.' He hesitated. Beyond, a man began to scream in pain, and then, mercifully, the cries ceased. 'You did well, Kirill,' he said softly.

'By the gods,' said Kirill in a faint, mocking voice; it was all that was left him. 'Are you praising me, Bakhtiian?'

'Here is some water,' said Ilya, giving him a few swallows from his pouch.

Suddenly, behind them, Tess moaned and shifted away from Niko's grasp, struggling toward Yuri's body.

'Don't burn him,' she whispered. Niko captured her and shook his head roughly at Ilya to go back. 'Don't burn